


If Love Wants You: Everything Your Mouth Remembers

by blessedharlot



Series: If Love Wants You [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Sex, BuckyNat Mini-Bang, Canon Compliant, Catharsis, Cryofreeze (Marvel), F/M, Friendship, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), being awake is complicated, trigger sequence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedharlot/pseuds/blessedharlot
Summary: Bucky threw his gaze to the far wall. “If this…” He trailed off and shook his head vigorously. “If this fix doesn’t work, Natalia, I don’t want you here.”“If this fix doesn’t work,” Nat explained gently, “and I’ve done the triggering…”She stepped closer to him, close enough that Bucky could feel her body heat radiate across the bare flesh of his arm. He could feel the soft currents of her breath brushing his skin.She continued. “Then you’re under my control, taking my commands.”  Her smile curved further into something mischievous. “I’m good with that scenario,” she whispered.-=-=-=-=-It's post-MCU Civil War, and Bucky has complicated new medical advances and relationships to navigate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't miss the amazing artwork by [falcon_hill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcon_hill) that accompanies this story! It will greet you at the end and wrap everything up so well.
> 
> Though you can read the stories in any order, the series does build on itself. In Part 1, “Melted Down to Stars”, Natasha and Bucky *finally* clear the air after Civil War, during one of his brief stints awake in Wakanda. In Part 2, “You Will Love With Lungs and Gills”, Natasha decides it’s time to tell an unsuspecting Steve about her history with Bucky. Together the two of them discuss Bucky’s health and culpability.
> 
> All series titles are taken from Anne Michaels’ poem “Last Night’s Moon.”

There was an endless stillness. Everything, everywhere was stillness.

The stillness used no effort or force. It simply existed, gently, in every direction.

There was a soft emptiness to the stillness, for so long. Seemingly forever.

Eventually, the stillness stirred and shifted. The movement rang through with a blue white light. From the inside out, there was now only that blinding-white blue, all around.

Finally, the long white blue found edges and endings. And every edge curled up on itself, like spilled water being unspilt.

The blue blinked away, and became the sound of a heartbeat.

Suddenly there were happy shouts, and the metal scrapes and clacks of a roller coaster. Then water rushed by.

There was the smell of shoe polish. And then blood. And then popcorn.

There were green curtains fluttering. Behind them, two men carried a limp figure, leaving a trail of blood. And then children were playing on a schoolyard, and someone sang a rhyme. A girl swished by in a skirt with petticoats.

The floor rumbled from an explosion, and someone was screaming in pain. And the smell of bleach was so thick, it burned. There was a body requiring dismemberment and disposal. A kind voice spoke something. Then there was mud pressing back against booted feet.

There was the feel of fingers wrapped around a barrel shroud. The sensation changed, and smaller fingers gripped a jungle gym bar.

He thought of the heavy weightlessness of tree bark. And he saw brick walls. He felt the tiny glinting cold of dog tags against his chest. Red hair brushed his shoulder. His fingers were on piano keys. There was a body growing weak, wheezing and clamoring at his feet. He tasted blood, and steak.

There was a _him_ now, doing the hearing and smelling and tasting and remembering.

And then he was in a warm, soft bed.

_This one is real,_ he thought. _I’m in a bed right now_.

He laid very still and kept his eyes closed. The comfort of his bed was strange. He wasn’t sure, from moment to moment, if he truly wanted to see where - or when - he really was.

Something electronic chirped gently near his ear. He tried moving his left hand, and wasn’t entirely surprised to find it gone. He felt an IV in his other, flesh arm. He remembered a pretty girl putting the IV in his arm, and he was startled by her gentleness in the memory. He wasn’t sure when that happened.

He opened his eyes a crack - without moving anything else a hair - and saw rich brown wallpaper and a plush, soft blanket draped across him. A nearby screen caught his attention. There was a message written on it. It was English.

“James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, today is March 10, 2017. You’re in the Royal Center for Advanced Biomedical Research of Birnin Zana, Wakanda. Good morning, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky stared at the screen. The photos weren’t there last time. Steve had probably given them photos to show him. A younger Bucky leaned against a stranger’s car, pretending it was his. Bucky couldn’t remember who took the photo. He didn’t know why anyone would keep it. He was smiling in the photo.

He drew out his next inhalation, oxygenating his muscles best he could and - though he was pretty sure he was safe - he prepared himself to fight anyway. Just in case.

Then he carefully shifted his head to look around.

Steve. Steve was sitting next to the bed, sketching something.

_Still here. Waiting for me,_ Bucky thought. _Dumbass._

He closed his eyes again, for just a bit longer. Opening his eyes was still exhausting.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

_Drink, yes,_ he thought. _Drink the fluids. Don’t talk. Don’t force the waking up, yes. I remember this part._

_Why do they give me all this care?_

“Buck, I brought you some new books! Some new paperbacks. You moved so quick through the others. We might not have much time for books this time though, because… well. Later we will. Actually, I might have a situation where we can both get caught up on all the reading we want to do! But don’t worry about that now. We’ve got some exciting news. But we’ll talk about that later. Don’t worry about anything. You just take your time waking up and-”

Bucky let Steve’s chattering wash over him like a warm breeze. He paid little attention to what Steve was saying, and just let Steve’s voice ground him in… in whatever this life was that he had now. This life with Steve. Wilson was probably around somewhere, too. Natalia, even. Maybe.

He had this little circle of people now who knew his name. Who even had some idea what he’d done. And more than one of them had just plain refused to leave him alone.

_There’s not much more I can do to protect them from me_ , he supposed.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

As they finished eating a meal offered to them, Bucky perused the files Steve gave him on some crimes that had been recently committed in New York. Some of the people involved had been agents in cryo, like him. But not quite like him. Bucky pointed out the one guy in the photos that he knew, and told all he remembered about him. He also offered some leads on what needles to look for in the haystack of men who might have hired that kind of muscle.

“How good are these private investigators?” Bucky asked.

“Good,” said Steve.

“They should be fine, then. Honestly, these guys are brutal, but they’re not that smart. It’s probably only their weirdly out of date tricks that gave them any sort of head start.”

Bucky imagined what it would be like, going after the guys himself. He could dispose of them pretty quickly, and keep anybody else out of harm’s way. But he wasn’t mission-ready. And it took him a moment to realize that disposing of them might not be the desired plan.

“They’ll wrap it up quick,” Bucky continued. “I won’t be much use to them yet anyway.”

“Well. On that subject,” Steve said with a wry smile. “We’ve got something else to discuss.”

_I’ve worn out my welcome_ , Bucky immediately thought. _Wakanda must be done pretending they could do anything for me_. He probably wasn’t fixable. He was too broken. It was time to go. It was time to figure out the next way he was going to survive.

“Your medical team,” Steve said, as smile broke even wider. “Buck. They think they might have undone your trigger.”

Bucky had noticed that his brain sometimes needed some time to translate what he heard or read. He wondered some days if his brain had just lost track of which language was native to it. He gave Steve’s sentence a few seconds to coalesce into a meaningful thought. But he seemed to fight himself, and understanding eluded him.

“What?” he finally replied.

“Buck, they’re not 100% certain. If you want to wait until they’re certain, we can. But if you’re up for it, we can put you in a safe situation, and feed you the words, and find out if they’ve done it.” Steve’s eyes were wide with excitement. “We can find out if the words still matter, or if the sequence is absolutely useless now.”

Steve’s meaning sank in that time.

“Now,” Bucky said. “We do it now.”

“Well, sure, absolutely. I mean, once you’ve really woken up, Bucky.”

“No, I mean now. I’m awake now.” Bucky stood up, and looked expectantly at Steve, willing him to get up too. “If they think they can do it, let’s do it. I’m done waiting.”

“Are you sure?”

_No. This is the worst idea. I’m absolutely terrified._

“Yes. Now. What precautions do they want to take?”

“Well, let’s go discuss it with the medical and security teams! Bucky? Are you shaking?”

“No. Let’s go.”

_This is what I want. Why am I terrified?_ _It’s all I’ve wanted for two goddamn years_.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

It was happening. They were going to try.

Some sort of precaution protocol was being strongly suggested. Bucky only half-listened. Same old, same old, he figured. Guards, restraints.

Bucky thought he should probably be more aware of his surroundings, even with all the security around. But he was mostly only aware of his own flesh, his own remaining limbs, as he walked down the hallway toward the lab.

This was all he ever wanted - to belong to himself again. For his body to be his own again. No more open door for someone else to use, to pour themselves into him and tear pieces of him out. No more of anybody reaching in that far against his will… loading him like a gun and turning him on others.

Maybe his body would feel like his own again.

Maybe he would worry less about hurting others. Or would that stay the same?

This flesh belonging to him again. Would he even remember how that worked?

Would all the people of his past that he hated so much, would they feel any smaller inside of him then?

Would anything be left of him once they were gone?

That last question had haunted him. He wondered if it would ever go away. He thought it may always be inside of him, outlasting everything else they put in him - that fear that he’d never be more than a ghost again. But some growing part of Bucky adamantly didn’t care anymore. There could be nothing at all left of him after closing up the hole. He may be nothing more now than scrap metal and ground down meat. But he would be his own piece of nothing again.

If they could only take this hole out of his head, forever.

_The questions probably don’t matter. They probably can’t fix me anyway._

They entered the lab, and a room full of people were watching him.  He momentarily felt overfull of memories of this very thing - being the specimen. Studied, handled, acted upon. Steve went and talked to someone, and Bucky purposely lost track of the people in the room. He hyperfocused instead on the technology. Ordinary cabinets and counters revealed nothing. Monitor readouts sat empty of data, hungry for him. There was a chair positioned as the focus of one side of the room.

That must be for him. The chair everyone stared at was always for him.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he agreed to any of this in the first place, including the cryo. Why didn’t he just cut out and run, and protect everybody that way? Why hadn’t he done it earlier, when he had the chance? Right then he couldn’t recall.

He became dimly aware that the population of the room leaned more toward security than medical needs. There appeared to be only one doctor waiting for him. The others were Steve, and Wilson. Steve’s girl - her name might be Sharon - and Barton had joined them too. There was a member of T’Challa’s elite Dora Milaje at each of the two exits, and a third near the doctor. Some of the usual security guards that milled around when he was awake were there too.

And then there was…

_Damnit_ , Bucky thought. _Damnit, no_! His pulse quickened to see her there and for just a moment, he was dizzy and disoriented.

He froze where he was, staring at the chair, when Natalia approached him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bucky immediately said to her.

“Bucky,” Steve offered as he came up behind her.  “I thought it best that Nat join us.”

“Natalia,” Bucky warned her, and her hand lighted on his arm. He shook his head and tried to unclench his now tight jaw.

“I told you I’d be here when you woke up next,” Nat said gently.

“No! Not for this.”

“Bucky,” Steve interjected with determination. “We need a Russian speaker to do this right. To make sure the trigger is perfect as it can be. And we can trust Nat with this still very sensitive information. I know you know that.”

Bucky looked Steve in the eye, and he didn’t know what to do with the quiet new grief he found there. _She told him._ _He knows._

Bucky threw his gaze to the far wall. “If this…” He trailed off and shook his head vigorously. “If this fix doesn’t work, Natalia, I don’t want you here.”

“If this fix doesn’t work,” Nat explained gently, “and I’ve done the triggering…”

She stepped closer to him, close enough that Bucky could feel her body heat radiate across the bare flesh of his arm. He could feel the soft currents of her breath brushing his skin.

She continued. “Then you’re under my control, taking my commands.”  Her smile curved further into something mischievous. “I’m good with that scenario,” she whispered.

Bucky curled his head away from her. His whole body responded instantly to her, and he didn’t pretend to understand it all. But he wasn’t going to share it with her in a roomful of strangers and Steve. He finally aimed for his best unreadable face and turned back toward her, which was apparently what she was waiting for. She turned her back to him, walked to a chair across from his, and sat down facing where he would sit. All Bucky knew for sure at that moment was that her dress was green and beautiful and hugged her hips and her ass. And then for just a minute, it occurred to him that he was probably among friends, and they might have thought this through. And maybe he could trust them all briefly and see what happened.

Someone handed Nat a small lockbox. Bucky wasn’t yet ready to look at what he knew she’d pull out of the box. He turned away and busied himself getting arranged in the chair. It was a rather ordinary chair, truth be told. The doctor strapped a thin telemetry belt around his chest... to monitor his heart, he supposed. They had explained all this, at some point. He hadn’t really taken it in. The doctor put two dime-sized sensory pads on Bucky’s temples, and then stepped away. Bucky finally noticed there were no straps of any kind on the chair.

“There should be restraints,” Bucky said uneasily.

“There’s no need,” the doctor replied.

Bucky glanced at Nat, then glared at Steve. “I should be restrained.”

“Buck, without your metal arm, I can best you myself, pal. Don’t sweat it. Just relax.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, took a breath, and looked at Nat. She examined a page from the book, and her face was tight with concentration and contempt. She crossed her legs defiantly. She looked both composed, and ready to fight. The angle of her neck and the crook of her arm were so elegant, Bucky thought he might pass out from it.

He couldn’t believe the situation. He couldn’t believe this strange life. He lounged in a chair, free, without his bionic arm. Steve and strangers stood there surrounding Bucky, watching for the danger that could erupt out of him, ready to still it. His breathtakingly beautiful former lover sat in front of him like she owned the room and owned him too. She waited to hand him either her benevolent authority or his freedom. One of the two.

He felt afraid and naked and raw. His breath had gotten hard and quick.

He took hold of the pressure building behind his exhalations, and he lengthened each one… stretching out the rise and fall of his chest to find some kind of calmness.

Then he realized. He was in Nat’s hands.

And the fear dissipated.

He brushed his hair straight back with his hand once, held it there a moment, and braced himself.

Then he met Nat’s eyes, and everyone else fell away.

He nodded. She looked down at the paper once more, and spoke.

“Zhelaniye,” she said.

_Longing,_ he thought. _What a strange place to start._

He suddenly heard something. It seemed very loud and very distant, all at once. It came from outside the building. No one else seemed to react to it. He wondered if he should tell anyone. _Surely, someone would handle it._

“Rzhavyy.”

_Rusted. What the hell is with these words they chose?_

The noise got louder, or closer maybe. Still, no one was reacting to it; was he the first one to hear it? Should he interrupt the process? He wouldn’t normally question T’Challa’s grip on his own security, but Bucky’s confusion and fear were rising. What was causing the noise?

The worry crossed Bucky’s mind, what if they all lost control of their environment right as he lost control of himself? Would it be Berlin all over again?

“Semnadtsat’,” Nat continued.

_Seventeen_ . _Hunh._

Numbers, lots of scattered numbers echoed through his head.

He wondered what could make that sound. He couldn’t place it. It had begun strangely but was becoming more familiar. It was deeply unnerving. The sound. _I know that sound. Do they not hear it?_

“Rassvet.”

_Daybreak. Natalia, do you remember the sunrise at… dammit, where was it?_

He tried to distract himself. But with every breath, he desperately felt that there was something he was supposed to remember about the noise. About the words.

“Pech’,” she said.

_Furnace. But there’s no heat. I’m not burned, I don’t think. No burning._

The sounds. They were indeed coming from a great distance away. There was a screech of metal. And there were voices. Someone was screaming in pain. But they were so far away. It was tinny, like a battered, beaten up record playing on an old phonograph.

“Dieviat.”

_Nine. Numbers, more numbers._

The sound wasn’t getting any louder. It wouldn’t come any closer. He felt a compulsion to go find the sound. But no matter how terrifying this was, to sit here and continue listening to Nat with that maddening sound, he didn’t want to leave her voice. Whatever he would learn about the noise, he would have to learn from his present location.  

_Numbers. There’s a number. Again and again, a number. No, I won’t go anywhere. I’ll stay here with Nat._

“Dobroserrdechnyy.”

_Benign. Those fucking assholes used the word benign in here. Is the sound them? I don’t remember it being this way._

He had no awareness of what he had been looking at before, but he sought Natalia’s eyes out again now. She looked calmer than he thought she had any right to be.

_This isn’t how this used to work, Nat. Is that good? Or is my programming somehow getting smarter? I’m scared. I don’t know how to fight this. I don’t know how to fight my way out of this._

“Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu.”

_Homecoming. You sons of bitches. If you weren’t all dead I’d kill you slowly for your fucking sense of humor with these goddamned words._

The sounds were still there, maddeningly distant, maddeningly taunting him to hear and to know. He had realized, at some point, that the sound was in some corner of his head. Some memory that the words forced out violently. There was a voice screaming itself raw. And another… another voice. Some calm, smug voice that made his blood run cold. But it was over there, wherever there was, and he was over here. And he certainly wasn’t going to move. He had decided that much. He wasn’t going to move.

“Odin.”

_One. Another number. More damn numbers. How many words are there?_

Nat’s voice had wavered on that one. Was there something Bucky needed to know about the world outside his head?

_Numbers,_ he thought. _Three numbers. Three. Or two. Five? Three two five five seven zero three eight_.

He wondered why that popped in his head.

_Wait._ _32557038._

His old Army serial number.

That’s what the raw voice was screaming. When it could find any words. That number, and sometimes his name. All in fragments. All breaking down into pieces, smaller and smaller pieces. Numbers, digits.

The sound became an image that he watched dimly, from a distance, as though it were projected poorly onto a bad screen… Zola working. On him. Zola picking up where he’d left off in torturing him. Zola’s machines inflicting pain he’d never known before. Words, these words, all these words, but in a bitterly cold voice, jumbled with screams and screeching metal and the smell of blood and bile and the nauseous ripping feeling of a consciousness coming unmoored from its body. His body.

All dim, and tinny. All reflected against some jagged surface, beyond his arm’s reach.

He couldn’t reach any of it from where he was. Bucky watched it from afar.

And his old, tyrannical compulsion to follow it, to know it, to be in it and live it and rip apart from himself again… that compulsion slipped itself free of him and began to slither away.

“Gruzovoy vagon.”

_Freight car. God dammit. I’d fucking kill them all. Slowly._

The sound and the reflection faded away. All of the sudden, there was stillness and quiet. Bucky noticed he was looking down at the carpet again. Nat was silent for several seconds.

And he knew. In his bones. She must have finished the sequence.

And he was still himself, inside himself. The hole - and the others that had forced their way through it - they were all gone.

He looked up at her. There was so much quiet between them. He blinked, and his eyes felt wet. He looked around for Steve, and found his friend’s anxious, fearful, worried face nearby, still wondering what was going on inside Bucky.

And Bucky couldn’t manage any words to assure his friend. But tears began to fall down his face in earnest.

And one single, unnameable thing deep inside of him shifted.

And he began to sob.

Then Steve’s arms were around him. And Bucky just let himself sit there and cry, like he couldn’t ever remember doing. Except maybe he did, a long time ago. Tears like a child would shed, flowing freely.

He let Steve hold him, and he cried. And he looked at Natalia looking at him and being beautiful.

He didn’t have any words for a long, long time.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

The doctors thought it was probably permanent. There were more arrangements to make. More details of his care. There would be a private dinner soon with T’Challa and some of his staff, and Steve and his friends. There was talk of a new arm. Bucky could probably have forced himself to take in a clearer understanding of the details. But Steve was paying plenty of attention for them both. And this daze Bucky was in was actually pleasant. And he probably wasn’t hurting anybody leaving his head in the clouds for now. So he did.

He found himself sitting with Steve’s friends, in the common room of the suite where Bucky’s visitors always stayed. Barton, Wilson, Steve, Sharon and Nat all sat around him on couch arms and pillows and rugs.

There he was, hugging a pillow in his lap. Sitting with a group of mostly strangers, feeling both out of place and… strangely welcomed. Their chatter about food and missions had a strange mix of normalcy and foreignness. He found it difficult to keep up with the conversation, and his attention mostly kept wandering back to all that was on his mind, now that his mind was his.

Now that Bucky was more likely to be safe by himself, he wondered again if he should leave. Take off on his own. Keep any future trouble away from Steve’s friends. He’d considered it... a lot. But the complicating factor would always be Steve. Even if he was actually better off with Bucky gone, he would never stop looking. Bucky knew how stubborn he was. He would be condemning Steve to a terrible life of guilt and worry eating at him, if he disappeared.

He supposed if the roles were reversed, something similar would probably happen..

He looked around the group, and thought about what he knew of them. If they were Steve’s friends… they probably knew the risks that came along with that. Nobody around Steve seemed naive. Bucky just hated worrying about how he might affect their safety, how he might have already affected their lives for the worse.

He wondered what he possibly had to offer Steve, in his new life.

Bucky thought he’d heard Steve talking about some land he’d bought, with a house on it. Bucky felt a little confused about the details. He was about to ask if he’d heard Steve right about growing something, when Steve turned to him and excitedly gripped his shoulder.

“How you feeling, man?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head in wonderment. “I have no idea.” He chuckled a little.

“I guess those nightmares might slow down now, huh?” Steve leaned back and smiled.

“Eh, I don’t know about that,” he said softly.

“Well, they can’t get in there anymore, now can they? You don’t have to worry.”

“No,” Bucky said quietly. “But most of the nightmares aren’t about what they did.”

Bucky didn’t really want to be talking about his nightmares. He didn’t have the head to find another subject to talk about, though, so he looked to Steve, hoping he would get the hint. Bucky found him seemingly seeking out Nat’s line of vision, but Nat was staring off into space. She looked like she’d heard what Bucky had said, and was deep in thought.

Steve turned to the others, and spoke.

“Eventually - though maybe not today - Bucky is going to need intel on every science fiction program in existence. You’ve got a lot to catch up on there, Buck. And we’re here to help.”

“Look, the good stuff is good,” Barton said, “but you sci fi freaks need to show some good judgment here, too. You can’t throw him to the sharks and let him see just anything out there. There’s some terrible, awful, wretched alien soap operas out there.”

“You don’t need to talk about our friends like that, Barton,” Nat explained. “Thor can’t help who he’s related to.”

Barton had something in his expression that Bucky couldn’t sort out, but he also guffawed at the joke that Bucky didn’t get. Nat smiled warmly at the both of them.

“Bucky,” Sharon asked. “Have you seen Steve’s list?”

“Oh, not yet,” Steve said. And he handed Bucky a little book, with a list in it. Steve explained it was his own catch-up list he made when he first came back.

Bucky thumbed through it while the others talked more about aliens. Some of the list was either music or movies. He thought he recognized a couple of titles, but couldn’t piece them together. Bucky was pretty sure he had eaten most of the different kinds of food Steve had written down, if not all of them. He chuckled grimly at the thought that he got out and about during his captivity more than Steve had.

Bucky listened a bit more. He took a moment to reflect on Steve’s friends. He thought he liked Barton. Barton had made some funny jokes, though Bucky had already forgotten them. And Barton clearly cared about Nat. And was married to somebody else. Bucky could work with that. Sharon had impressed him with her grit, coming after him in Berlin the way she did. And though Steve explained she wasn’t his girl yet, he looked happy to have her there. Bucky liked that too. He still wasn’t sure what to do with Wilson. He trusted him with Steve’s life. Obviously he’d been a good friend to Steve. But he clearly didn’t like Bucky. And Bucky figured that showed some good sense on his part.

Suddenly Steve was leaving to do some errand, and reassured Bucky he’d be right back. Bucky then realized Sharon and Barton had gone already.  Wilson and Natalia were busy arguing about yet another tv program with “star” somewhere in the title. So he sat back and let their voices wash over him. And he thought about what had happened today.

He’d escaped before. Dallas was still the clearest memory he had of that. And he’d remembered Steve before. His mission in Nrosvekistan still echoed through his head sometimes. They didn’t always happen at the same time though - both memories and escape. So he’d already felt like he was pushing his luck long before he found that apartment in Bucharest last year.

He was starting to think he’d run into a good, solid, real bit of luck, finally.

There might be fragments of old programming to find. His captors had layered fixes on top of fixes for decades… especially in the early years, and again, decades later, after Nat. He still had to watch his back. His friends were still in danger from him, and from what he would attract around him. But without the trigger... the chances that someone could *keep* him, even if they managed to *get* him, were sinking like a stone.

Nat suddenly excused herself, emphatically arguing a point at Wilson as she left... something about somebody named Jabah.

Bucky nearly asked her not to leave. But she did. And then he and Wilson were alone.

_This is your chance. Say it, Bucky. You’ve practiced enough. Just say it._

“Look. I…” He said it kind of loudly, and Wilson narrowed his eyes. Suddenly Bucky felt his shirt really needed to be smoothed out, and started working on that. “I just want to say… that I’m sorry for…”

“Stop,” Sam winced.

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“I’m trying to apolo-”

“Don’t,” Sam replied. “Just don’t, man.”

Bucky opened his mouth to ask why, but was confused enough by Wilson’s response to keep silent.

“I’m not saying I don’t deserve an apology,” Wilson suggested in a irritated voice. “Alright? I’m not saying that. I’m saying…”

Wilson shook his head. They both sat in silence for a beat.

“This is all complicated,” Wilson continued. “And we’re not gonna have this conversation right now. I’m very comfortable with our current level of hostility. Don’t upset our delicate balance.”

_Fine_ , Bucky thought. _Topic change, I guess._ Bucky had a different question to ask while Steve was gone, and he tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He was pretty sure he failed.

“Did he… did Steve really buy a _farm_?”

Sam dissolved into laughter. Bucky was caught somewhere between curling up in confusion at Steve’s bizarre choices, and joining Sam doubled over laughing at Steve’s bizarre choices.

“Dude, he’s got a seed catalog! He’s ready to starting hoeing rows and planting corn. He’s probably bought you both overalls and straw hats and pitchforks by now.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky muttered. “What am I going to do?”

“Same thing the rest of us are. Humor him until he’s done.”

Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his head in bewilderment. Sam’s snorts had turned to chuckles, and his head shook as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“But hey. You know,” Sam started. He lifted up his shoulders in a slow shrug. “The problems get big enough, and weird enough... and the solutions that best suit those problems can sound pretty absurd. Sometimes you gotta get imaginative to make life worth living. Y’know? I knew a guy handled his PTSD by buying up old cadillacs and burying them in the dirt. Another one took up the trapeze.”

“Trapeze?” Bucky was so confused. “Like those guys in the circus?”

“Mhm. It worked for him,” Wilson said pointedly. “Kept him on an even keel. Made him happy. Maybe the farming thing will stick for Steve, who knows? Stranger things have happened. Trying something, even if it doesn’t work, is better than trying nothing.”

Bucky considered what Wilson had said. He was supposed to be some kind of expert in shell shock. And he had Bucky wondering now. Everybody was so focused on Bucky and his business here lately. Was anybody minding Steve’s business for him?

Bucky asked, “What are… are there... warning signs? For a guy getting interested in circus acts? Should I be… watching him for something?”

Wilson laughed. He was quiet for a minute.

Then he met Bucky’s eye, leaned forward, and spoke again, softly but firmly.

“Look, man,” he said. “The various people who carry… any kind of weight, from what you did. We either don’t need apologies, or words won’t do any good. It’s going to be one or the other. Sometimes a little of both.”

Bucky checked to see if his shirt needed any smoothing again.

“Do you understand what I mean?”

Bucky frowned. And nodded.

  
-=-=-=-=-=-

  
Bucky had been given an empty room in the suite to use for changing into supper clothes. He took the outfit options Steve offered, but he rebuffed Steve’s attempts to be more helpful than that. It may be a challenge for him with one arm but Bucky certainly wasn’t going to let somebody else dress him. He could manage by himself.

He had showered, and towel-dried his hair, and gotten his underwear and slacks on. And he was sporting a fresh undershirt. He was frowning intently at the button down shirt in his hand when there was a knock on his door.

“Go away, you punk,” he called out. “I got this.”

The door opened, and a head poked in and looked around.

“I haven’t really been very punk rock for years, if I’m honest with myself,” Nat mused.

He felt very tingly, all of the sudden.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied. “Do you want help?”

He looked at the shirt, looked at her and nodded.

She slipped in, and was wearing a shimmery, short black dress. He very much enjoyed how much it clung to her everywhere. She had one of those evening bags with her that looked like it actually had room enough to carry a decent Glock. She came close and peered at him with an odd look on her face.

He squinted. “What’s the look for?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how someone can manage to look so surly and giddy, all at the same time.”

He felt himself smile.

She sat her purse down on the nearby bed and came close again. She passed a mirror that showed her dress was open in the back, with crisscross straps. He really liked that dress.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Bucky couldn’t immediately decide whether to be flippant or not. He searched for words, for insight that his head could wrap itself around.

“Less like a ghost,” he said. Her lipstick was really great. “Still kinda… weightless, though. Almost like…”

He took in the curve of her jaw and the way her hair fell across one of her cheeks and he got to her eyes and fell into them.

“Like something good might happen,” he finally finished.

“Something good did happen, you dope.”

He grinned. “Is that what this is?”

“M-hm.” She held up the shirt, then looked at him again and thought better of it. Instead she put it back down on the bed and opened her purse.

“I feel like…” He thought he might have some more words. “I feel like I’m drunk. But with better aim, probably.”

“I think that’s called…” She looked at the ceiling in mock thought. “Oh, uh… happiness.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow and nodded, as though he were trying the new word on. “Hm. Happiness.”

She smiled, and her smile filled the room. She stepped back toward him pouring something into her hand from a tiny bottle.

“I think…” He decided to risk saying it out loud. “I think I might actually get a second chance.”

“Preposterous,” she whispered with a wicked grin. She ran her hands through his hair and began setting it in place with whatever she’d brought with her. He watched her face as she examined her work and put stray hairs just where she wanted them to be. He hoped it took her all night to get his hair just how she wanted it.

Eventually she nodded approval of him. Then he enjoyed the view as she walked away, stepping just inside the bathroom and leaning over to wash her hands. Then she made a beeline for the two shirts that Steve had given him. He had chosen the white shirt, assuming it would be more appropriate to go under a jacket for whatever the supper occasion was. Nat instead picked up the other shirt and brought it to him.

“You should definitely be wearing jewel-tone blue tonight.” She came close and reached her arms around him to position the shirt.

“What’s the name of *that* color?” he asked.

She noticed where he was staring. “My lipstick?”

“Mhm.”

She grinned and raised an eyebrow. “It’s called ‘Carnivorous.’”

Bucky inhaled sharply. “Of course it is,” he breathed.

And he bent down and softly kissed her. His lips met hers and a warmth that felt like home rippled through him.

And Bucky was sure that this was a terrible idea, and that he shouldn’t have done it.  Except that she was kissing him back.

And he very suddenly decided that it was their second first kiss and that it should be perfect. So he did his best to tell her how absolutely breathtakingly amazing she was with a kiss. And when it seemed over, they each pulled away. But it didn’t yet feel perfect enough to Bucky. So he reached for her again, and tried to tell her how perfect she was with a palm to her cheek and another deep, lingering kiss. Maybe this one would do it.

This time their mouths opened and their tongues met for the first time again. And they were both new people in new lifetimes now. Strangers. With whatever that tangle was between them that Nat had named before. And whatever it was that was between them, it sang when they touched, like a strummed guitar string. Like a wild bird.

They parted. And looked at each other.

Nat looked worried, and opened her mouth to speak. But she apparently decided she needed to deliberate her point a bit longer. Because she closed her mouth again.

Then she dropped the shirt on the floor and leapt up to wrap all her limbs around him, and kiss him again.

Bucky wrapped his arm under her ass and let her kiss surround him. And he let their little momentum carry him backward toward the nearest wall. They grazed a potted plant on the way, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t damaged. As they tumbled their weight into the wall, he heard something fall and he didn’t care. She broke off their deep kiss to move her lips to his neck and earlobe, using both hands to grip his hair and tilt his head any way she pleased.

Then she whispered in his ear.

“Can I unbutton your pants?”

“Oh God, please yes! Do anything you want. Anything.”

He felt his slacks drop down to his knees, and then her dress was up past her thighs. She reached into his underwear as she shifted her hips against him. Then her panties were slid to the side and she had his cock inside of her.   

Bucky whimpered into her shoulder. “Oh my God.” He thought he might cry again. “Oh My God!” He finally really cared that his arm was missing because it slowed down how many places he could touch her at once.

“This is it,” he said. “I’ve lived a good life for days now, I can die right here.”

“Shut up, James,” she giggled.

“Okay.”

She emphasized her point by stopping his mouth with hers. It was a long, deep, wet kiss that reached down into him and filled him up. And the way she felt, pressed against him... there was nothing else like it anywhere. He could swear he felt the uniqueness of her touch like a fingerprint… on his mouth, his neck, even through his metal skin, though such a thing shouldn’t be possible. But her graceful fingers, her passionate grip on what was left of his bionic shoulder, it was just as much Nat as every other curve and arch and the warm wetness wrapped around his cock just then. Every teeth mark she was leaving on him. Every breath brushing past his ear.

“Oh. Dammit,” she whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t lock the door.”

“What? Oh, what difference does it make?” he said.

“Because on the other side of that door is a half-dozen people gathering to give you a birthday cake.”

“What?” he cried.

Suddenly she arched her back and squeezed her thighs around him so tightly, he wondered if he’d be bruised. She managed to keep a scream from leaving her open mouth, as her shoulders convulsed several times.

Finally, she leaned back into him and untensed her back, loosening her grip on him only a little.

“Wait,” he breathed. “Did... what just sent you over the edge?”

“Shhh.”

“Natalia.”

“Shush.”

“Was it the maybe getting caught part?” he marveled.

“Hush.”

“Or was it birthday cake?”

“Yes, you idiot. I have a big thing for cake.”

“You’re not gonna hear me knock that. Cake is really good.”

“You’re taking too long,” she smiled and started rocking up and down on him.

“Okay, now I’m really confused. I thought long was a good thing.”

He bent his knees to get an angle to thrust into her. Then he buried his head in the curve of her neck and wrapped his arm around her, letting himself get full up with Natalia, crowding out every other sense until his whole self hung suspended, still, in the center of her. He shuddered hard, for ages. And he fell back down to earth, though his legs held beneath him.

He was so deeply happy to find her still wrapped around him, he snuggled tight and relished it.

She looked down at the floor beneath them, and looked back up at him, pressing him to her more tightly.

“Step out of your slacks,” she instructed. “Now.”

He did as he was told while avoiding the shirt that was on the floor. He also avoided several items new to the floor. Some looked like they might have come from the nightstand, some from the wall itself. He hoped nothing was breakable.

Nat hopped down off of him. She headed toward the sink again, and on the way she gave up on her now very wet underwear, stripping them off and leaving them on the floor. She wet a cloth in the sink, wiped herself off and slid her dress back down into place. It looked for all the world like she would attend the formal state dinner without replacing her panties.

“Ohhhh… my,” he managed at the thought.

Nat tossed him the washcloth and began shaking out his clothes as he cleaned himself up. In another few seconds, she had him properly dressed. He snuck more kisses into the deal.

“Oh dear,” she said. She reached up to straighten his collar, and Bucky thought she looked a little upset. Maybe even sad. “I did not intend to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Have sex with you.”

He was suddenly very worried. “You didn’t like it?”

Nat quickly smiled. “Of course I liked it. Did you miss the part where I really, really liked it?”

“No, I think I noticed that,” Bucky grinned.

“This was just… accidental.”

“Did you trip and fall on me?”

“Ass. I’m your friend. And this is not what friends do. Not now.” She kept fussing over his collar while she worried. “This was such a bad idea. James,” she grimaced. “A very bad idea.” She hugged him tightly as she shook her head. “I keep making mistakes with you.”

Bucky hugged her back. “I forgive you,” he said magnanimously.

Nat looked at him and gave an exasperated smile.

He didn’t understand what she was talking about. But she was probably right. If she didn’t want it to happen again, it wouldn’t. Whatever it took to be her friend.

Bucky didn’t want to think, or plan, or worry at all just then. He just drank her in. Her hair was still perfect. Her dress had a neat way of wrapping around her shoulders. She had kept it on the whole time, but it looked fine now. She kept it clean.

And then it hit him. He never saw her without the dress on.

What he had done… she probably had scars that he had given her.

“Hey,” he ventured. “Did you… did you keep your clothes on, on purpose?”

Nat looked deeply into his eyes with softness and a kind smile, and for a split second Bucky had the wild thought that she was casting a spell on him. She slowly shook her head as she spoke. “Today’s not for dwelling on that.” She stood on her tiptoes and sealed the spell with a kiss on his forehead. Bucky held a lot of weird feelings at bay.

Steve’s voice called out from the other room. “Buck, you ready? Come on out here.”

“Wait,” she commanded quietly. She ran to her purse, and before Bucky knew it, she was wiping a tiny wet cloth across his mouth and jaw. She got three good swipes in before he realized what she was doing.

“Oh my God!” he gleefully mouthed, then chanced a laughing whisper. “Do I have lipstick on me?”

“Not for long - NO!” She hissed. She grabbed his neck with an iron grip before he could bolt and show everybody. “You STOP. I am NOT having this conversation with ANYONE out there.” She huffed. “There.” She stopped, examined him, and finally let him go.

“Buck, hurry up!” Steve called out again.

Now Bucky stalled, watching her gather her things. Bucky didn’t want to miss whatever was going on outside, with Steve and a bunch of people who strangely seemed at ease putting up with his presence. He didn’t want to miss any of this. He just… couldn’t remember being this happy. And didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to hold all of this close… Nat. Steve. All these people Steve had found who smiled at him too. He didn’t know how long this would last. But maybe he had a chance. A new chance to try something.

Nat finally guided him to the bedroom door and managed to push him out while hiding herself. Then Steve had an arm around him and dragged him across the common room. Wilson was there, and Barton had rejoined them.

“Alright Buck,” Steve said. “We’ve got one more thing we’ve got to do before meeting folks for supper.”

From the little kitchenette space just off the common room, Sharon entered with a smile. She was indeed carrying something large and rectangular and frosted, with a fair amount of fire flickering on top of it.

A cake with candles. A lot of candles.

They were singing to him now.

_Is it really my birthday? I guess it must be, they’d know better than me. March... March 10th. My birthday. Jesus, how old am I? That’s a lot of candles. Ninety… ninety-something? What’s the year, again? Please stop singing_.

They stopped singing.

“Oh my God,” Bucky said. “How many candles is that?”

“It’s 2017, Barnes, that’s 100 candles,” Barton said.

“Oh. Shit,” he replied, and everybody laughed. “Everybody keep back, please.” Bucky leaned in, ready to blow out the fire before anybody got hurt. Barton appeared to be brandishing a fire extinguisher nearby.

“Wait! Bucky, have you made your wish yet?” Sharon asked.

He blinked at her, and it clicked what she meant. A wish before blowing out birthday candles. He wondered when he might have made his last wish on birthday candles. During the war? That’s a lot of years to make up for.

“You have to make a wish,” Nat said, having appeared next to him with apparently no one getting suspicious. Her lipstick was perfect.

A wish.

He looked around him. At Nat. At Steve. He couldn’t explain what the ache was that he felt.

“Nah,” he mumbled. “I’m good.” He leaned in and blew strategically, and snuffed out all the candles with one breath.

Everybody applauded. Even Sam.

 

_artwork by falcon-hill_

**Author's Note:**

> Coming soon -- Who’s ready for the Brooklyn boys on a farm?
> 
> Credit where credit is due: Bucky turning down a birthday wish is of course stolen directly from Captain America, vol 5, #50 (Brubaker/Ross). But since I’m already here offering up ALL the cathartic moments I can reach, I’ll certainly by God give him a moment to quietly and publicly savor getting laid and having friends on his 100th birthday. Another comics reference is his escape attempt that started in Dallas - from his original Winter Soldier file seen in _Captain America_ Vol. 5 #11 (Brubaker/Epting). Finally, his mission in Nrosvekistan is shown in _Winter Soldier: The Bitter March_ (Remender/Boschi).
> 
> And in case you're wondering, MAC’s Carnivorous is a super matte, neutral burgundy, liquid lipstick. No, I do not have the money for MAC. I actually don’t wear makeup, either. But I do have my sources. And my source rather specifically tells me it’s “kiss proof but not make-out proof”. So there you go. Moisturize beforehand and expect to work a bit to get it completely off.


End file.
